


In the Details

by sharkie



Series: Amelia and Victoria’s London [6]
Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: F/F, Gen, The Election of 1897 (Fallen London)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:20:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21657430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkie/pseuds/sharkie
Summary: Victoria helps a friend with fashion choices during the election of 1897.
Relationships: The Withered Vagabond (Fallen London)/Original Female Character(s), Virginia (Fallen London) & Original Character
Series: Amelia and Victoria’s London [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1143917
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	In the Details

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ImprobableIntellect](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImprobableIntellect/gifts).



> Featuring ImprobableIntellect's OC, Victoria the deviless!

“There we go,” announced Victoria, setting her scissors aside. “What do you think?” 

Virginia swished her head experimentally. Blond locks brushed past her chin. “It’s...different.” 

“It frames your face much better.” Victoria scoffed at Virginia’s doubtful expression. “If you want to revert, be my guest.” 

“I will never, ever be your guest, my dear.” Virginia gave her new hair a final pat and reached for her leopard-print pillbox hat, only to find that Victoria had discarded it at some point and replaced it with a rich red version with a flower on top. The old hat was nowhere in sight. 

Virginia swivelled around in her chair. 

The eyebrows needed work, too. 

“Oh, honestly, don’t tell me you were attached to that natty old thing,” said Victoria. 

Virginia bristled. “I’ll have you know it’s very advanced fashion - ”

“So is mine!” Victoria protested. “By a century!” 

“Well, an _extremely_ advanced fashion reeks of overeagerness.” 

Victoria rolled her golden eyes. In all the years she’d known Virginia, the older deviless had never begun to understand Victoria’s preference for high hemlines, plunging necklines, and multiple piercings, to say nothing of her fascination with certain humans. 

Granted, Virginia was more open-minded than the regular devils at the Brass Embassy: she poked fun at Victoria’s salon, but didn’t loathe it or its purpose; she generously overlooked the question of Victoria’s soul intake and even defended her from other devils. It was just that, unfortunately, she was a fashion disaster. 

“As I was saying….sex sells,” insisted Victoria. “Just look at the previous elections.”

“Not in the Contrarian’s case,” Virginia claimed. 

“Actually, my sources say he gets around and the Princess cuts her sexual activity in half by killing her lovers afterwards. But I digress. The point is, you need to out-sex your competition.”

“Have you _seen_ my competition?”

“Yes, and I’m sure they’re fucking each other. Take it from a connoisseur,” Victoria added, when Virginia opened her mouth to protest. “And if you won’t have sex, it’s worth trying to scream it through your image.” 

“Fine.” Virginia’s expression softened, just barely. “I do appreciate the help. Just not the…” She glanced around for her old hat, futilely, and cringed when Victoria plopped the new one onto her head. “Theft.”

“I brought you plenty of replacements, dear Ginny.” 

Victoria turned to rummage through the pile of clothing heaped on a table. She held up one of the dresses: as red as illegal honey, cut low to reveal as much cleavage as possible without getting scolded by a Constable for public indecency. And the hemline? If Virginia bent over, any underclothes would be exposed. Assuming that there _were_ underclothes. 

Virginia’s ruby-painted lips curled in distaste. “It’s skimpy.”

“It’s _sexy_. Also, are you truly planning to promote a spa while fully-dressed?” 

“I doubt you visit human establishments besides brothels, but the disrobing tends to occur _after_ people enter the spa.” 

“Streamline the process! We celebrated the guillotine, after all.” Victoria allowed herself a smile at the memory: the sizzle of Correspondence sigils, the mechanical sound of a clean slice, the shriek of a captured Prince and the roar of weaponised fire. Despite her overall ambivalence towards Hell’s Revolution, their guillotines had been the perfect marriage of human design and hellish desire. Just like the Salon. 

And just like Virginia’s campaign. 

Victoria put the dress away, only to pluck out a scantier number. The dress was black, with a sheerness which would stick to the skin and shine under even the dimmest lighting. Black lace covered the spot where a traditional neckline would typically be. Victoria never wore clothes with sleeves, but this one was exceptionally revealing. 

“What is _that_?” Virginia asked, incredulous. 

“The perfect evening wear!” It was always evening, in Victoria’s mind. Technically, it _was,_ but she was thinking of activities more than lighting. “It’s excellent for casual human events, balls, those droll things that the Brass Embassy dares to call ‘parties’...”

“And meeting with temperance campaigners?” 

Victoria waved a hand dismissively. “You can meet them in the dark.” 

“Tori, at the rate this is going, I might as well not wear clothes. _I’m joking,”_ Virginia added, when Victoria looked more than ready to agree. 

Their conversation was interrupted by squeaking wheels, getting closer outside. Victoria briskly walked to the door and threw it open. Callista Isadora Carter sat in front of her, in her wheelchair, a grin on her scarred face. 

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” Callista asked, mildly. 

“Not at all,” said Victoria. A heated moment passed between her and the human. 

Virginia coughed. 

“Oh, hello, Virginia,” said Callista. She gave Victoria a final, lingering smile before turning her attention to Virginia’s new hairstyle. “That looks quite good.” Her gaze drifted towards the pile of clothes. “I trust that Victoria has been treating you well?” 

Their political situation was somewhat awkward. Callista supported Virginia’s campaign, in the interest of public welfare. After all, free health services seemed more helpful than Mrs Plenty’s business interests or Madame Shoshana’s vague, conveniently self-promoting premonitions. But everyone was well-aware that Virginia had her own agenda, though no one was exactly sure what it _was._

“Not as well as she treats _you,_ I’m sure,” Virginia said. Callista’s smile widened. Virginia sighed. “Maybe I should go now.” 

“Wait!” Victoria resumed rummaging through the pile of clothes and picked up a few pieces of fabric. “I haven't even shown you the lingerie yet!”

“Where is it?” demanded Virginia. 

“I'm holding it right now.”

Virginia took one look at the scraps in Victoria’s hands and promptly smacked a palm against her forehead. She left it there as she shook her head. Victoria began dangling the underthings in her face. Victoria smirked at her friend’s visible exasperation: clearly Virginia was adapting to human mannerisms, even if she hadn’t accepted their clothing. 

Meanwhile, Callista wheeled over to the pile of clothes. She rummaged through it and held up a new dress. 

“Virginia, try this,” said Callista. 

This dress was closer to the only-lightly-anachronistic garb which Virginia favoured. Its hemline was lower than Victoria’s offerings, and lined with red sequins - a rarity in Fallen London. The neckline was, however, somewhat plunging by modern standards. Victoria held her breath though she didn’t need to. 

Virginia gave herself a long look in the mirror. 

“It...isn’t terrible.” She eyed the clothing pile thoughtfully. “All right, I’ll try _Callista’s_ suggestions. _Then_ you can help me review the campaigners’ efforts, Victoria.”

Victoria deflated. “Fine,” she grumbled.

“I was referring to the posters. You can help me choose the art.” At this, Victoria brightened slightly. But only slightly. 

* * *

The commotion hadn’t died down after the Jovial Contrarian had wheeled offstage. Well-wishers and protesters alike crowded beneath the balcony where Virginia stood. The cries swelled as Victoria emerged behind her. 

A glass of Muscaria Brandy sat on the balustrade, an untouched offering from one of Virginia’s supporters. Victoria grabbed it and drained it. Licking her lips, she took the time to admire her work. Oh, not the banners and pamphlets - the final details had been for lesser beings to trifle with - but Virginia’s perfectly-coiffed hair and the fashionably advanced hat atop it, her fine furs draped over a slightly revealing red gown. 

“Well, here we are, _Lord_ Mayor.” 

“Here we are,” Virginia agreed, unflinching at the new title. She eyed the empty glass in Victoria’s hand as if seriously considering grabbing it and throwing it at the small group of poets jeering underneath the balcony. “Some thanks to you. _Some.”_

“You’re too kind.” Victoria lapped a drop of spilled wine off her wrist and grinned. “How is the underwear?” 

“Chafing. Like some personalities.” 

“Excellent, Ginny.” 

Virginia shook her head, smiling slightly despite herself. Victoria had been right about the confidence boost. Perhaps she had learned something useful from the humans, after all. 


End file.
